I had ramen with my lunch today and struggled with it a little, as I do, because of awkward fingers and the whole thing where neither a fork nor a spoon is quite right for it(Wouldn't it be just like life to stick me here and make me an unwitting master of chopsticks? Maybe.) Anyway, in the middle of all the slurp and plucking noodles from someplace cleavage-adjacent, I had the thought that some highly perverse individual would be sad that he(playing the odds, although I guess you never really know)would not have this on video or something. Someone would probably pay me a lot for that, actually.(And for a hot second, I would be into it too. Not even for the money or anything, certainly not to add Slurping Ramen Lady to my fascinating identity as Midlife Wheelchair Chick, and not because that blows my skirt up, but just to add some connection between something I do and some kind of result.) Because it doesn't often happen, no matter how much my boss preaches the gospel of the ground game, And I just thought the Bitches would get it.

Mental health achievement unlocked: I could listen to "Father of Mine:" without sniffling once. Who cares if I'm fifty...I can get over things. If I ever get through "Cat's In The Cradle", I guess I can pull a sword from a rock or something.

Cat's in the cradle wrecks me.

Not alone there. Although my own dad has probably played it on his guitar about ten thousand times without guessing he might be living it(he's probably not alone either. sigh.) I mean, I can't literally ask him for the car keys, so that's a loophole, after a fashion.(Which is one way that he is too literal to be the songwriter he thought he would be. Or maybe cause he's kind of a weasel and would see that as some big "Gotcha,'.)

I remember writing it out in a sharpie (just the title of the song) and taping it up on my biological mother’s door when I was 13 or so. I don’t remember her reaction or when and how it came down, though.

Hmmm, maybe she thought if she ignored it, it would be better. (Although some people really don't have any sense of allusion.) One mystery going on a tiny dose of thyroid meds appears to have solved is why my lips have been so dry for, like, years.(Even if my poetic side would prefer to think they've been sad from not being kissed for a long time.) It's a little too soon to tell if my digestion's better yet, but my lips are much more hydrated. I have so much balm, you guys. Started buying it during quarantine and really never stopped(of course, picking or licking during times of boredom and/or stress didn't help at all. luckily, that didn't come up at all during the period of festivity that's been The Biden Era, so I'm good, right, and yet?) Masters in lip-quenching....minor honeymoons with each new brand, so if it hadn't got worse, who knows if I'd ever spot it for a Thing?

cereal: I also tried petroleum jelly, in time to find out I'm pretty disgusted by petroleum jelly. This will be good for me and Mom, too. Because she kept looking at them and telling me there's nothing there, and I kept saying if I were going to flip out and have a delusion(especially in the absence of kissage) chapped lips seemed oddly specific. So, in addition to all the other benefits of the synthetic hormone, it will also save me minutes a month not having that conversation anymore. Especially since I'm too mature for "Was too," except for this, I guess.

Cereal: of course, it's my most obnoxious loose cannon friend who takes me up on my offer of political involvement. OF COURSE it is. We need the help, though, and I do need to let go of my unofficial, unearned quest to be The Bestest, most exceptional crippled girl God ever made, cause, like, there isn't even really a prize(and if I really won it, I'd want to die, anyway.) But she can be so embarrassing. But sometimes I hate when people prefer my outgoing friends to me, but there's no reason to be possessive, first. And she helped me out a lot when we were younger and I want to support her evolution. But this chick does have Evolutions like most women have new packets of Hanes Her Way, so not only is that tiring for people she hangs with, I don't want her to let the cause down because now she's a Sikh, or some shit. Also, when we were roommates in college, I caught her Single White Femaling several of my anecdotes. Which, to me. is nutcakes, but after years of building up disabled power as a sleeping giant at work, I don't wanna be all "But she doesn't attribute..." In conclusion, fuck Facebook for another case of mixed emotions from my Worlds Colliding, and all that jazz.

Happy birthday, erika!

Thanks...need all the wishes I can get.